


At a Crossroad

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, Inspired by Fanfiction, Minor Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Next-Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: Five years after Rose finished working on Theodore Nott's committee, she finds herself standing in front of his door after running away from home.(Inspired by A Season of Change by nightfalltwen, this is sort of a sequel.)





	At a Crossroad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightfalltwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Season of Change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748780) by [nightfalltwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen). 



> More than a year ago, I asked the incredibly talented and lovely nightfalltwen if she'd mind me writing a work inspired on A Season of Change. It isn't really necessary to read that one to follow this one, but I insist you read it all the same.
> 
> I really hope you like this, nightfalltwen. I almost didn't post it in fear you wouldn't. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She storms out after yet _another_ fight about what she is doing with her life. This one is about the lucrative job offer she had wanted to accept, but it could have easily been the one about her studies, her (ex-) boyfriend, the books she reads.

It seems to Rose that they will never fully accept her, and the life style she chooses to lead. In retrospect, as always, it’s easy to see where things started to go wrong: with her dad, it was the moment the hat on her head dared to utter _Ravenclaw_ instead of Gryffindor, dared to offer her Slytherin, dared to tell her she was witty, wise and cunning, dared to tell her she had ambition and intelligence tucked inside her, more so than she did daring nerve and courage. Her daddy, who always has seen the world more in black and white than shades of grey, and whom never had been able to fully accept Albus’ sorting in Slytherin, and her friendship with both him and Scorpius Malfoy, even though her uncle Harry had always been a proud father, no matter in which house his children wound up.

To Rose, it is the difference of seeing the houses as definitions of a person or seeing them as potential to learn and become more, and make something out of them. She has never fully understood what is wrong with being cunning and ambitious, as long as you put those traits to use for a good cause. The end doesn’t justify the means, her mother always says, but to Rose, it depends: there is a difference between committing crimes and saying it’s for the greater good (something she would _never_ approve of) but if you, for instance, take a job at a company that is maybe not a hundred percent law-abiding, but you do this to be able to change things from the _inside_ (which is always easier than from the outside) and you get a good pay  out of it, then why is it so wrong?

She had dared to tell her mother this, hoping, praying she would understand. Unlike Hermione Granger, she had never put a journalist inside a glass jar, or taken a horrid  professor to the forbidden forest hoping the centaurs would take care of her, but every time the response is the same: “You would not understand, it was war time and desperate times ask for desperate measures.”- Which to Rose sounds _exactly_ the same as the end _does_ justify the means.

Her mum had given her a hard, searching look and told her she did not recognise her anymore, her dad had started screaming at her and her _Gryffindor_ brother Hugo had just watched from the staircase.

She knows it isn’t fair to resent her brother his house, but she does resent the head shake he gave her when she looked at him for support and _that-_

Well, that had been the final straw for her.

With her dad yelling he would cut her off if she took the Malfoy enterprises job, her mum refusing to look at her, and her brother _shaking his head_ , she had grabbed her wand, stormed out of the house and had apparated away.

And that’s how she found herself in Derbyshire, a gigantic mansion looming above her, alone and afraid, tear tracks still fresh on her face.

Before she can lose her nerve, she rings the bell and afterwards has to force herself not to apparate away before someone can open come for five solid minutes. Just as she decides that (hopefully) no one is home, and starts to turn away, the wrought iron gates open and a figure approaches her.

“Rose Weasley”, he says, a bit of surprise in his otherwise calm voice. “Well, I can safely say I was not expecting to see you.”

 “I- I had a fight with my family about a job I want to take, and they _keep judging me_ , and I, well, I didn’t know where else to go, since Scorpius is with Albus and Al and my other cousins will be with Harry who will be with mum and dad and I, well, I- never mi-“

He cuts her off, says: “Come in. Please.” When she hesitates, he lifts an expectant brow and reaches out, cups her elbow and draws her past the gates, starts leading her up the driveway to the house as the gates slowly close behind them. She had been backing away before he spoke but now he has invited her in, and she still would if she didn’t feel such overwhelming _relief._

“Thank you,” she says, her voice catching, _thank you,_ and it means the world to her. He doesn’t respond, only looks at her briefly as he opens the front door.

Not much has changed since the last time she was here, helping him organise the horse race for the charity event, five years ago, God, and she wonders all over if it wasn’t a huge mistake to come here.

Theo leads her to the parlour and then the sofa, the click of his shoes on the dark wooden floor comfortingly familiar in a strange way, and sits down next to her. “Can I offer you a cup of tea? You seem to need one”, a wry smile on his face, and she simply nods, wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep but knows she can’t. Not here, not yet.

He calls one of his house elves, Leia, and soon she is holding a gently steaming cup, the fine china warming her hands.

“Now, would you like to tell me what brought you to my home, five years after we have spoken last, in a coherent manner?”

She _feels_ her cheeks flush red and gives him a glare. Later, she will realise that that was _exactly_ his intention, to distract her from her feelings, but now she is simply mad at him, at the situation, at her family.

“Scorpius offered me a job at his family’s company, and I told my parents I’d like to accept the offer, which lead them to a rant questioning all my choices and life style _again_ and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stormed out of the house, with nothing but my wand before I realised I didn’t exactly have a place to go.”

Saying it like that it sounds ridiculous and childish and immature, but Theo simply nods, a thoughtful expression etched upon his lovely face. “I do seem to remember your parents not always being supportive of your choices back in the day. Is it still that way?”

Rose snorts, in a wholly undignified matter, “Ever since the hat gave me Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor I think my dad decided I was never to be trusted again. And my mum seems to think I only care about money lately.” She puts her cup down on the table and rubs her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Theo- Mr. Nott, I just didn’t know where else to go.”

And to her utter embarrassment she starts crying. It’s like her body has had enough. The constant fights ever since she came back from college, the tiredness since she started helping Percy Weasley at the ministry, her monthly is approaching rapidly and she simply can’t deal anymore.

She sobs into her hands, and when gentle fingertips touch her shoulder and nudge her closer, she sinks into him, clutches at his back and sobs into his shirt- part of her grateful that he isn’t wearing one of his expensive well-made suits, that she does not need to worry about ruining that too- but the larger part of her is simply exhausted, simply _done._

Theo wraps his arms around her awkwardly, strokes her hair and shushes her, and later when she is done crying, he gives her a searching look and tells her that she is welcome to stay the night, that he’ll have one of his elves arrange a guest room for her.

She gives him a trembling smile, and he curls his fingers around her neck and kisses her forehead before he retires to his chambers.

Rose finishes her tea, follows the house elf to the guestroom and without bothering to change or brush her teeth (her grandparents would probably be rolling in their graves) clambers into the four-poster bed, and simply _sleeps._

.

Morning brings a bit of clarity and a whole lot of embarrassment. As she sluggishly blinks her eyes open, well rested and relaxed, the events of the day before rush into her head and she can’t believe she sobbed into Theodore Nott’s chest, or that she ran away from home.

Hearing a faint pop to her right she rolls over, and _screams._ It only takes her two seconds to make the connection of big, yellow eyes and a house elf but it’s enough for the elf to start banging its head against the ebony bedside cabinet and Theodore to barge into the room.

He assesses the situation quickly, eyes trailing over her and to the house elf. “Leia! Stop that! How many times have I told you not to punish yourself?” he barks.

“Leia is a bad elf, Master, Leia scared young Mistress Weasley and now Leia has disobeyed Masters Orders, Master.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offers, before the elf starts bashing its head in again “I’m just not used to house elves. You didn’t do anything bad, Leia, look, I’m fine.”

Leia fixes her big eyes on Rose for a moment, before looking between Theodore and the door. She apparates away at his nod.

“Well, I assume you must be fully awake now. I thought I’d see if you were still sleeping as to not disturb you but I suppose that that’s not necessary now”, Theo says drily, regarding her with an infuriatingly amused face. “The bathroom is through those doors,” he points to her left, “and I had Leia bring you some clothes.” He gestures at the pile neatly arranged at the foot of the bed, and Rose assumes the elf had put it there before it startled her. “You can come down to the breakfast room after you freshen up to eat.”

“Thank you,” Rose manages, and he nods, turns around and leaves.

.

The dress she is given is probably more expensive than her whole wardrobe, a lovely blue thing with embroidery flowers on material that feels like silk,  and even though it fits her perfectly and is incredibly soft, she feels very uncomfortable in it. It takes her almost fifteen minutes to even find the _breakfast room_ , because apparently it is an entirely different room from the dining room. The house and its decor scream wealth, intricate furnishings and paintings that must cost a fortune. She feels very out of place here, even though her parents make a decent living, they would never be able to afford such a lifestyle. It isn’t something Rose has ever aspired to, and it’s awfully strange to be staying here, however temporary it is. She hadn’t felt so out of place five years ago, but she hadn’t been wandering about, lost, then either.

Theodore is drinking coffee while he reads the paper, sitting at the head of the table. She sits down on his right, which is the only other place with a plate and looks at the banquet spread in front of her: eggs, bacon, sausages, stuffed tomatoes, pancakes, waffles, and bread, jam, cheese, yoghurt and fruit salad. There is orange juice, coffee and tea, and she thinks she spots chocolate milk. She there’s a strangled sound in the back of her throat but she refuses to let it come out. _This is just like Hogwarts, Rose. Elves like putting everything on the table._

As she serves herself and starts eating, Theo puts the paper down and pours himself some orange juice. They share an amicable silence. Part of her finds it strange that she feels so at ease around him, especially after they slept together- she remembers the awkwardness that had set in after Frankie Longbottom and she had split up, seeing him at Christmas parties and other gatherings, and they hadn’t even done much more than a bit of fumbling underneath each other robes- but Theo has such a quiet presence, such a calming demeanour and he hasn’t even hinted at what happened between them, that she can’t help but feel at ease.

She finishes just as Theodore drains his last sip of juice, and she smiles at the synchronisation. He is looking at her, now, seemingly considering something and the smile slowly fades off her face.

“If you are willing, I’d like to discuss your situation.”

“Yes. Please.” Rose says, a desperate note in her voice she can’t hide, because she has never felt so lost in her life before, and really needs someone more successful at being an adult to help her out.

A soft look passes over his face; she thinks she maybe imagines it. “Come on, then.” He takes her hand, leading her to the sitting room and sets them down in the same couch they sat the day before.

Steeping his fingers, he gives her an intent look. “First and foremost, you need to make a decision concerning the Malfoy Enterprises job. If you don’t take it, you’ll be able to return home-“he breaks off once he notices Rose shaking her head at the last part and sighs.

“Rose, I do understand your feelings and concerns, but eventually you will have to talk to your family again. They are an important part of your life.”

“I’m just not ready yet, Mr. Nott. They have been very unsupportive of me lately and I need some time to figure things out.”

There is a pensive expression on his face, and after a few minutes of silence he speaks again.

“In that case, you might want to find out your financial situation. Do you have your own vaults?”

“I believe so.”

“Then you need to contact Gringotts. Since you are of age, I believe your parents have no say in it, unless you gave them express permission- which you did.” He adds as he sees her face fall. “Look, Rose, I suspect your family would not quite be the type to cut children off if they don’t live up to expectations. Write a letter to the Gringotts Goblins, ask them about the vaults, and revoke your parents’ permission if you feel so inclined.”

There is a bitter note in his voice that suggests his family _would_ have been the type to cut children off, but she feels it’s not her place to ask. Besides, she has seen the burn marks on the tapestry at Grimmauld Place twelve, has noticed Teddy Lupin does not appear on it, and has heard Uncle Harry’s stories about his godfather.

“You can add a magical signature to the letter, to prove it is authentic. Consider the job, and decide what _you_ want to do. It might be time to start looking for your own place, and I rather think you’ll need to go shopping for clothes- unless you can go home and get them. If I recall well, though, Granger used to be very good at wards, and she’ll notice you coming back.”

Rose nodded. “Yes, she would.”

Theodore stands up, and heads to the doorway as he speaks. “Concern yourself with Gringotts, first. We’ll take care of the rest later.”

“Thank you,” she says, earnestly.

He waves it away. “I have some work to do, so I’ll leave you now.”

Rose waits until he’s gone to kick off her shoes and curl up on the dark purple sofa, running her fingers on the fabric absentmindedly as she stares into the fireplace. Hearing a cough from the doorway two seconds later, she turns her head, surprised to find him there, watching her.

“I just wanted to say,” Theodore pauses a second, appearing conflicted, but then continues, the doubtful expression leaving his face, “you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

 He is gone before she has the chance to thank him, _again._

.

After sending the letter to Gringotts, and a short one to her parents to let them know she’s safe, Rose wanders. At first, she studies the paintings, the carvings that decorate the wooden arches, runs her toes through the tick carpets on the ground. She tries to remember the tour of the house they had gotten five years ago, but still ends up in rooms she has never seen before. She debates on going to the stables, but as she remembers what happened there vividly- her mind still supplies that particular memory to her on a regularly basis- she decides against it for the moment.

 She is searching for the library when she stumbles into the study, and draws up short at the sight. Glasses make Theodore Nott even more handsome, _impossibly_ so.

But she can see that he is working, quill posed to write and so she backs up, feels around for the doorknob. Her shoulders hit the door, push it closed.

He looks up, without even a hint of surprise. “Yes?”

“I was just, uh, I was looking for the library, but this place is so _huge_ and I just can’t find anything anymore and well I didn’t mean to disturb you-“

“Why didn’t you call a house elf to assist you?” he has a smile on his face, and she thinks it bloody unfair that a forty-nine year old man can be so good looking.

The look she gives him must be completely gobsmacked but “I didn’t realise.”

“Ah yes,” he takes of the glasses, rubs his eyes, fixes piercing blue eyes on her “CHEW was it?”

It takes Rose a moment. “S.P.E.W. actually... though I don’t think she could take offense to yours, they have clean pillowcases and are told not to punish themselves.”

“The library is through those doors,” he says after a beat. “I can give you a tour of the house later, if you’d like.”

She nods, and goes in search of a good book.

.

“An excellent choice,” Theodore remarks, sitting down across from her a few hours later.

“A favourite, actually,” Rose replies, lowering _To Kill A Mockingbird_ and raising eyes to meet his, “though colour me surprised at the extensive amount of Muggle literature in a Pureblood family’s library.”

“We pride ourselves on excellent taste,” comes his swift reply, “but those were acquired after my father passed away.”

She vaguely remembers her parents discussing Cassius Nott; he hadn’t just _passed away_ , he had been sentenced to a Dementor’s Kiss.

She opens her mouth, but closes it again, not knowing what to say. Theodore’s face darkens in a way that indicates he knows exactly what she is thinking anyway, and she doesn’t want to make matters worse. The silence is only broken by the rhythmic ticking from the clock, and she wishes she could sink into the leather fauteuil she is sitting on.

“I wrote Gringotts the letter,” she blurts out.

He raises a single eyebrow; Rose never manages to pull that off. “What did they say?”

“They haven’t written back yet.”

“Ah.” A slight inclination of his head, his face gives nothing away. She is feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“Right, so I was thinking I could maybe ask Hugo- my brother- for clothes, but I don’t know if he’ll want to do that and uhm, I don’t know if I should contact Scorpius or wait a bit though he did say they were waiting to make the position available-“

Her stomach growls, cutting her of, and she closes her eyes a second.

“Hungry?” He asks, wryly amused.

She laughs nervously, relieved that the previous subject is over.

He is looking at her in _that way_ that only Slytherins seem to be able to pull off: that look that tells you they know exactly what is going through your head, they know exactly how you are feeling and won’t hesitate to use that knowledge if necessary, won’t hesitate to manipulate you and the situation until it’s in their favour. Albus always wears it whenever he wants to get out of something, and Rose has learned to fear it.

She holds his gaze, tries to keep her face blank as her laughter fades. Her heart thunders in the vicinity of her throat and she has no idea why she feels so distinctly nervous, except that she does.

Theodore cocks his head, now with a curious, inquisitive look, and whatever he sees on her face makes him smile slowly, licking his lips.

Her mouth goes dry, parting slightly and she draws back, straightens her spine. She should really stop looking at his lips. He nods slightly, the movement jolts her and she notices a pensive look in his blue eyes, the fact that he seemingly has come to a decision.

Rose is confused and then curious as he snaps his fingers. A house elf pops into the room and the moment is gone.

“Master called, Master?” She thinks it is Leia, but isn’t quite sure.

“Miss Weasley is rather hungry, Leia.” Ah. “Perhaps you could fix her something to eat.”

“What would mistress be wanting?” The elf asks, now turning to her.

“Uh,” she hesitates for a second, looking at Theo, “Are you not going to eat?”

“I usually only eat two meals a day,” he says, “breakfast and dinner around five-thirty. You can join me, if you’d like and only eat something light now or you can take your dinner when it suits you.”

She does not like the idea of having to eat dinner alone. It is not something she has ever done, except for the few odd times here and there: a party, a late lecture. Her parents insist on family dinners.

“I’ll join you later,” she says, and then looks at the elf: “if you could make me one or two sandwiches? With cheese.”

Leia nods enthusiastically and apparates away. She wonders if she’ll get used to this: getting what you want with only a fingersnap.

Rose stands up after a second or two, and only spares Theodore a brief glance before she heads to the door, finding his heavy gaze still on her, still lovely, still calculating, and this time it only takes her ten minutes to find the breakfast room.

Another twenty, however, are spent in search of the kitchen, where a salad bowl, a plate with sandwiches and a can of pumpkin juice are laid out on the marble kitchen bar.

.

The knock on her door makes her jump, and get up from her sprawled-on-the-bed-position as if her life depends on it.

“Enter,” she calls, standing next to the bed.

“I thought I’d escort you to the dining room,” Theodore says as he pushes open the door, his eyes lingering briefly on the rumpled bed spread. She feels her cheeks flush. “I’d hate for you to get lost again.”

He settles against the doorframe, and he does not even pretend not to watch her as she snatches her sweater from the chair she had thrown it on. She glowers at him as she puts it on and walks past him. To her annoyance, he suppresses a smile.

He puts a hand on the small of her back, surprised, she shudders at the gentle touch; and keeps it there until they reach the dining room. Gesturing her politely into the room as he opens the door, he walks past her once she is inside and draws out a chair for her.

She falters slightly, not accustomed to being treated with such courteousness, but finding she likes it. She wonders if this is something that comes automatically to him, or if he’s doing it especially for her. The second thought thrills her.

Once she is settled and Theo has taken a seat as well, plates appear on the table, in the same fashion as they did in Hogwarts.

Roast beef, potatoes au gratin and a salad bowl filled to the brim with various vegetables, some of which she has never seen before.

“May I serve you?”

“Oh!” Rose had assumed they’d fill their own plates. “Yes, I mean, sure,” she says, cursing herself for her eloquence and holding her plate up, quickly, so he could release the salad.  His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Wine?” he asks.

“Water is fine for me, thank you,” Rose answers.

She waits until he has served himself and has picked up his cutlery before she starts eating, and almost moans as the juicy meat hits her tongue.

She is searching for something to say when he speaks: “So, tell me. What have you been up to the last five years? I recall you said you wanted to get involved in charities?”

“I did that for a while, but then I went to college. I missed studying, and my mother agreed that I could always study and start working later,” she clarifies when he looks curious, “she said it was good to be safe, and have a second option. My dad didn’t quite understand, but he never understood why mum finished Hogwarts either, so that was to be expected.” She smiles as she remembers her dad’s expression when she had announced the news.

“As good advice as any,” he offers, “What did you study?”

“Arithmancy, and as choice-option it’s application in economy.”

“Interesting,” he says.

“Yes, I really enjoyed it. I love the fact that different fields of magic can be so easily combined.”

“You know, I almost became an arithmancy teacher at Hogwarts.”

“No,” she says, “you could have been my professor!”

“Yes,” he smiles, as he looks at her, “I wonder...”

“Wonder what?”

He gives a small head-shake, and asks instead “so, what would you like to work on now?”

She pushes away her curiosity. “Well, as you know Scorpius offered me a job at Malfoy enterprises. It would entail the use of predictive magic to foresee the best investment places; though I’d like to be able to eventually make their stock greener and fairer.”

He raises an eyebrow at this, a sly smile playing at the corner of his mouth: “change things from the inside? Quite ambitious, aren’t you? Cunning too.”

She feels her cheeks burn red, and is slow to meet his steady gaze. She is not sure if she likes the fact that he seems to be able to read her so easily.

Laughing, he leans closer, lowering his voice slightly: “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, Rose. Not bad at all.”

There is something on his face that she cannot name, and even as he leans away he continues to look at her, chewing slowly.

Trepidation, excitement and expectation mix into a strange sensation in her stomach, and make her breath come quicker and her hands shaky.

She cannot decide if she likes the feeling or not, and that may be the scariest part.

.

She wraps the green coat more securely around her, and watches the fog her breath creates as she breathes in out, in out. If Scorpius doesn’t show up soon she’ll freeze, and they’ll have to melt her to un-stick her from the icy cold bench she is sitting on.

Spotting a familiar grey hat, she stands up, rubbing some warmth into her hands as she approaches him. She had helped Albus pick out that hat for him as a joke, and he had kept it just to spite them— Rose would _never_ admit it, but she had come to like the look of it.

Scorpius hug takes her by surprise, but she welcomes the contact. He pushes his face into her neck as he wraps his arms around her and she hugs him back, tight.

“Hi Rosie,” he smiles as he pulls back, mischievously and she swats him playfully.

“Scorpius,” she says, smiling back.

“How are you?”

Her smile tightens, and she pauses. Though he says it nonchalantly enough, there is an undertone she does not fail to notice, and seriousness in his face that belies his apparent carelessness.

She fixes her eyes on the orange-reddish leaves, fallen from trees in the green grass behind him and takes a moment to compose herself. Scorpius notices this, and takes her hand, squeezing it, as if he’s saying, _it’s me, you know._

He lets her take her time, as always patient, and as always sweet, and though it doesn’t ache anymore, she indulges in the fantasy one last time, laments the fact that he is taken, but knows that she would never wish him not to be, for Albus happiness is far too important to her.

“Oh, Scorp,” she sighs, finally, meets his eyes and gives him a small shake of her head, but a smile, too.

He understands what she is not saying, of course. She will be fine.

“Talk to me?”

She nods. Then says: “I really don’t know where to start.”

He regards her for a long moment, moving his jaw. She recognises this, knows he has the habit of doing this when he is considering a (fairly) big decision, and she waits, patiently, secretly hoping he will not take too long because the wind is picking up, chilling her to the bone, and it looks as if it is about to rain.

“You’re staying with _him_ , aren’t you? Uncle Theodore?”

She _feels_ her eyes grow big, her mouth opening slightly. “How did- how did you-?” she stutters, falters.

He smiles, that boyish grin, his eyes sparkle with the triumph of a solved mystery.

“Your clothes look far too expensive to be yours, and I recognize the style.” He explains, then grows grave, “Rose...”

“Scorpius, it isn’t like that, as you should know. I should feel offended, frankly,” she smiles at him, to let him know this is not the case, “Theo- Mr. Nott has been kind to me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says, sincerely, “he’s, well, maybe not a _good_ man, but he is sincere. It’s just-“

“See,” she is frustrated, “I’m not- I can think for myself, I’m my own person, and my parents seem to resent that. And I was tired of it. Please don’t be them. You must know how this feels.”

He considers her, realisation dawning on his face. “Right, yes, you are correct. I apologize”

“Thank you,” she says, relief coursing through her body, then: “must you always be so formal?”

“I cannot help it, see Miss Weasley, for I was raised a Malfoy.” Even though Scorpius always speaks in a slight drawl, his accent refined and a bit posh, he now adopts such an affected air she cannot help but laugh.

“Why yes, I understand, good sir, but I assure you it is wholly unnecessary.” She tries to imitate.

He shakes his head “still bad at it.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Shan’t,” he sticks his tongue out at her briefly, and ducks as she swats at him again. He has always been good in inspiring some of her most violent tendencies.

Rose smiles affectionately, rolling her eyes at him.

“Speaking of clothes,” she starts-

“ _No_ ,” he interrupts immediately, perking up, “You’re finally going to allow me to shop for you?”

“Only this one time,” she stresses, because I need your skill in elegance at not-so-elegant-prices. And it would have to be in the Muggle world, since mum usually goes shopping in Diagon Alley Saturdays. I’ll pay you back later, I promise.”

She knows he is almost biting his tongue to not make a remark and she appreciates it. Being best friends with Scorpius Malfoy has incredible perks, but the money is always an issue. Rose simply cannot spend as much as he can, and having him pay for her every time they go out is degrading, even though he insists it isn’t a big deal. She knows it is, knows he could double spend and support someone else without even noticing a change in his allowance, but it _is_ a big deal for her.

“Okay,” he says, “but take as long as you need.”

“Hoping I’ll forget it?” she asks, and laughs at his expression, “I know you too well,” she says, “and besides, it won’t take long at all, I think.”

“Oh?”

“You can reduce it from my pay check next month.”

“You’re accepting the job!” He exclaims, incredulous.

“You’re sure your dad is okay with it?”

“Are you kidding me? With your grades?” He says, “Dad will be thrilled.”

“Good,” firmly, “I’d love to work with you.”

He offers her his hand, she takes it, they shake and he says, very seriously “As spokesman of Malfoy enterprises I assure you, we are very glad you accepted the job and we look forward to working with you.”

Then he licks his lips, and suddenly starts pulling her with him.

“Tea, and when it stops raining, clothes?”

“What rain-oh.”

“Yes,” he says, as the downpour starts.

They look at each other, and without another word they burst out laughing and start running to the little cafe next to the entrance of the park.

.

“Mr. Nott?”

He looks up from the horse he is brushing down as she approaches, and smiles at her. “Yes, Rose?”

“I uhm, Scorpius and I went clothes shopping today, so I thought I could give you back the dresses you loaned me. I tried to ask one of your elves but they said I should ask you.”

“You can keep them.”

“I really don’t think I should, they are too lovely.”

He looks confused: “and you don’t like lovely clothes...?”

“No, I love them! I’m just afraid I’ll tear them or something.”

“Well, I don’t wear them, surprisingly enough. Keep them, really. They look good on you.”

“Fine, but only as long as I’m staying here.”

He shrugs, and she doesn’t feel disappointed. She doesn’t.

She starts to turn away, but he calls her back.

“Rose, if you’d like to, you’re welcome to help me with the horses.”

Turning back feels awkward, and her shoes catch on the uneven ground. Once she is facing him again she has to laugh: he has a piece of hay in his hair.

She steps closer and reaches out for it, and he turns to her fully. This leaves them standing very close.

“You, uhm,” she holds out the piece of hay and he looks amused as he takes it from her, feeding it to the chestnut beside them without taking his eyes of her. Rose caresses the horse softly when it neighs, looking for more food.

She reaches for anything to say- “Don’t your house elves take care of them?”

“Sometimes,” he answers, handing her a brush, and their fingers touch “but usually I feel like doing it myself.”

She steps back and breaks the spell, but her heart refuses to calm down the rest of the day.

_._

Theodore and Rose fall into a comfortable routine the next few weeks. Rose usually eats breakfast alone before she heads to work, though sometimes he rises early and eats with her. They rarely talk: she is always too late, drinking coffee to wake up and hurrying like mad; he reads the paper, a glass of freshly pressed orange  juice next to him, already in a suit and perfectly immaculate.

Once she snaps, asks him how he always looks so put together, while she is a mess, and he simply laughs at her and tells her she’ll be late. She knows it has to do with growing up in worlds of expectations, knows that is not the life she would have _ever_ wanted, but sometimes she hates herself, just a tad, for not being more like that.

They always eat dinner together, usually Theo will ask her about her day, not quite answer when she asks about his. In the weekends, she brings home paperwork and sits down in the breakfast room with a cup of tea Leia brings her. The elf has the uncanny ability to always sense which tea Rose is in the mood for, she wonders if it is part of her magic.

One day, Theodore steers her to a little study overlooking the gardens, and tells her she’s free to use it whenever she likes. Her paperwork is already waiting for her, a cup of steaming mint tea next to it.

Sundays she finds herself in the stables, brushing the horses, and after a while, riding them too. ‘I love this one, Mr. Nott,” she says one day, brushing down the chestnut she just galloped with across the fields and he smiles and tells her she can call him Theodore.

“Theodore,” she tries, and finds she quite likes the sound.

_._

For what feels like the fiftieth time, Rose lowers her arm again. It is starting to hurt from the endless motion she seems to be stuck in: raise-make fist-lower, and she has been staring at the door so intently she’s quite sure she could by now paint it in her sleep.

Rocking back and forth on her heels, she repeats her speech in her head, and then sighs and knocks quickly, before she can leave again. It’s time to be brave.

She can hear a voice approaching, laughingly answering someone else and before she can start panicking that _everyone_ is home the door opens.

Hermione Granger’s smile freezes on her face, that way stranger’s smiles on the street tighten a bit when you make eye contact, indicating the smile was not meant for you, and what follows is an awkward silence, as her mum looks her over, eyebrows raised.

“Hi mum,” she manages, weakly, “can I... come in?”

“Rose.” She opens the door wider—an invitation.

“Rose!” Arms around her then, and she stumbles back as Hugo throws her of her guard, “I am so glad to see you.”

She hugs him back, and meets her mother’s gaze over his shoulder: “I’ve come to apologise.”

Her mum gives an almost indiscernible nod as she moves towards the living room, calling her dad from upstairs. “Well, you’ll have to be quick, because your dad and I need to go buy a couch.”

Everyone _is_ home then. She supposes it’s too late to turn back, now. She almost asks, but thinks it best not to.

“What happened to ours?” she asks, and Hugo turns scarlet and mumbles something about a potion’s accident.

Laughing, she reprimands him: “Why didn’t you ask me to help?” but before he can answer her mother’s voice reaches her: “Well, you weren’t here, were you?”

Rose stiffens at the cold tone- the hard way then.

Ron, coming downstairs freezes when he sees her and then keeps on walking, brushing past her as if she is air- “Hermione, are we leaving then?”

“Our daughter has come to apologise, Ron.”

She can’t catch her dad’s reply, but the hushed conversation gets shriller and shriller until Hugo starts yelling, cutting them off abruptly. “Listen to her, will you! Before she _leaves_ again!”

“Hugo, I-“Rose says, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach but he shakes her hand of his arm impatiently, “No! I have-“

“You stay out of this young man,” Ron starts. “Your—“

“She’s my sister too, I have a rig-“

“-and I can handle thi-“

“-speak, and you’ll end up just-“

“-your help-“

“-asing her away again-“

“Stop!” Hermione yells, standing between the two, holding her arms up between them, “Stop it right now. Ron,” she turns to him, “we can listen to her.”

“Hermione-“

“ _Ron_.”

Rose reaches up to rub her eyebrows. “I should have known this was a bad idea-“

“Oh no, young lady,” her mum seethes, arms crossed as she turns towards her daughter, “you finish what you started.”

“Yeah right because you-“ she closes her eyes, stopping her own sentence, says tiredly: “I did not come to fight. I’m sorry, I am. I shouldn’t have run away but-“

“Bloody right, Rose-“

“Ron, we’ll listen to her.” Her mother repeats, and the fight seems to have drained out of her as she collapses onto a chair. Rose suddenly feels incredibly guilty, taking her mother in- she looks so small and tired.

“But, I just felt as if I could not do anything right at all, and I’m 23 years old. I should be able to make my own decisions.”

A soft look passes over her mother’s features, but before she can speak her dad asks the questions she was fearing.

“Where have you been staying?”

“Dad, I-“

“Where have you been staying, Rose?” he repeats, more forcefully.

“I don’t want to say!”

“Rose Weasley, I will not repeat myself again. Now tell me-“

“Theodore Nott!”

Her father mouth falls open, spluttering, and he gives her the coldest look she has ever gotten, and apparates out on the spot.

“Dad” her voice breaks on the word.

“Mum?” she has tears in her eyes now, and her mother nods, and holds open her arms for her to stumble inside.

“Hugo, make some tea will you,” and Rose laughs softly. For Hermione, tea is always an answer.

“Rose, I do not condone your decision to run away. That said, I realise I hadn’t been treating you fairly. You have always been an exceptional bright girl, quick on her feet, ready to help others out, and I felt like I was losing sight on who you were, but I’ve been thinking, and I did the exact same thing when I was your age- joining a corrupt ministry to change things from the inside out... I- I’ve always been proud of you, Rosie, I want you to know that. I’m sorry if I seemed not to accept you, and I realise that you should be able to make your own decisions.”

“Thank you, mum. That seems so much to me-“and she’s crying earnestly know, barely able to see through her tears, but they are mostly happy tears.

“I have to go, now,” Hermione says. “Don’t worry about your dad, honey. He’ll come around.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Rose says bitterly, but Hermione shakes her head with a mysterious smile on her lips.

“There’s one thing you should know about your dad, Rose. Ronald Weasley may leave sometimes, but he _always_ comes back. Give him time. This is hard for him too- his little girl is growing up, and he still feels as if he is holding his first born in his arms.”

Hugo and Rose drink their tea mostly in companionable silence. And when she leaves, he hugs her tight, and she feels lighter than she did before she came, so that’s something.

_._

She squeals and opens her arms wide as she sees the girls, and Lily Luna and Roxanne fly into her arms. It is a flurry of rambling she can’t understand anything off, and catching her balance at their weight and general laughter.

“Let’s get you the best apartment we can find!” Roxanne, always the leader, doesn’t disappoint.

A few hours later, the realtor kicks them out after Lily’s tenth fake whisper in half as many places: “The bathroom is _in_ the kitchen, Rosie, how can _any_ self-respecting woman recommend this place?”

Amusement wins out from aggravation as she watches the realtor woman splutter and push her glasses higher on her nose. With a: “well, ladies, I have another appointment best of luck!” she practically pushes them out of the apartment, and leaves them with a glare.

Lily links one arm with hers, Roxanne the other, and they go get ice cream in Diagon Alley.

“I’m never to find a place with you two,” Rose bemoans, burying her face into her arms. Lily shoves her good-natured and says: “I’m never going to get a tan, Roxanne, can I get your skin _please._ ”

Roxanne’s dark cheeks glow pink. “I thought Lysander liked pale skin and freckles, Lil,” she says, teasing, and then it is Lily who turns bright red.

 _Oooh,_ Interesting.

_._

“Theodore! You startled me.” He doesn’t move from his position, perched against the dark oak wood that frames the door to the courtyard outside. She supposes he must have come from the stables, hair damp and slightly mused, expensive looking riding boots and trousers she has only seen a few times on him, the first time being when she discovered he had horses and he gave her an apple for Marseilles.

Something niggles at the back of her brain- she had promised a bucketful of apples to that horse, hadn’t she? It did help her come up with an idea for the charity, after all. She wonders if Marseilles is still alive, given that it was one of his oldest horses, but before she can ask, he speaks.

“I didn’t know you played,” he says, gesturing to the ornate grand piano she is currently sitting at.

“Oh, I don’t really,” she answers, letting her fingers run gently over the white keys, “I just always wanted to, and this one is so beautiful...” her eyes snap back to his, and she adds hastily: “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” he says, and his tone assures her. “My mother taught me to play, and I am quite sure it missed the finesse of female hands. Horseback riding was much more to my liking.”

Rose has never heard him share so much personal information, and she loves the soft look he has on his face now. It suits him. “She taught you to ride, too?”

“Yes,” he nods, “she taught me a lot of things.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...” she hesitates, quite sure that he will mind and runs her hands over the burgundy velvet of the piano bench, watching her fingers smooth over the light patches and make them dark again.

Theodore gives her a long look, piercing blue eyes on her own brown ones and she sees the way his hand grips the doorway and his jaw clenches. He already knows what she wanted to ask, then. Her mother did always joke about how transparent she is.

“Never mind,” she says, giving a quick decisive headshake, “I didn’t mean to pry.” Besides, the stormy look that passed over his face gives it quite away. Rose wonders at the fact that he even let her see it. She dimly remembers the rumours her parents discussed with hushed noises, when Hugo and she were supposed to be sleeping and the kitchen light was the only light still on in the house, when she would crack her door to hear, wrap her arms around her knees and look at the stars through her window- rumours about thestrals and falling of stairs and accidents that were not-quite-accidents.

He regards her for a moment longer and pushes his tongue into his cheek- she recognizes it as the habit he has when he is considering what to say. But he doesn’t speak. Instead, he waves his hand and the piano starts to play. Delighted she turns back to it and watches the keys go up and down as the room fills with Tchaikovsky’s waltz of the flowers. Closing her eyes, she listens, softly rocking her body. The music sounds absolutely lovely within this room, the echo making it seem as if it is coming from all around her, instead of just from the instrument in front of her.

“My mother loved this room,” he speaks again. “Much like you she would sit here every evening after supper, playing or simply listening. I used to watch her until bedtime.” She opens her eyes again at the gentle clicking of his boots on the wooden floor and watches as he comes to stand next to the bench.

“She taught me to dance, too.” He says, and then he bows and extends his hand to her. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Weasley?”

Rose smiles, but says: “I don’t really know how to dance.”

He doesn’t drop his hand. “The only thing you have to do is follow my lead.” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth when he adds: “that is, if you’ll allow me to.”

“In that case, I would love to,” she says, smiling too and places her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand up from the piano bench. She stumbles slightly and has to catch herself against his shoulder.

He keeps her there, placing the hand that is not holding hers on the small of her back and then, they dance.

Rose loses track of time after the initial first few minutes of stumbling and threading on his toes. He remains patient, gives her time to adjust and she enjoys the dance fully, concentrating on nothing more than the music and following his lead. Forwards, back, sideways, twirling, dipping... just losing herself in the movements.

After a while, the music slowly comes to a halt and they do too. She looks up to thank Theodore for the dance, but the words catch in her throat as she is reminded of how beautiful he is. Theo, for his part, is looking down at her too and what follows seems to happen easily, as if it is only normal, only natural.

He brushes careful fingers against her jaw and they catch on her cheek, tilting her head up a bit more. He leans down, brushing his lips against hers for the merest of seconds and then he is gone again, eyes flicking between hers, his other hand coming up to hold her head between steady palms.

Bending his head, he kisses her again, and her mind is quiet as she kisses him back, unfurls her hands from the fists she unconsciously formed to grip his wrists instead. She had forgotten how much she had loved the way Theodore kissed, soft but demanding, consuming. She had forgotten how she used to compare him to other boys she had dated these years and how she had found them lacking, how his lips were firmer, how his stubble was les scratchy, how he was so refined, instead of sloppy.

Theodore kisses her for seconds or minutes more, seemingly not intent on anything more before he slowly draws back, hands still on her cheeks, the metal of his signet ring cool against her hot skin. She rocks back on her heels, letting go of off his arms- her hands drop awkwardly, making a dull sound when they hit her thighs. Her eyes feel wide, her lips swollen.

She feels the overwhelming need to cough or laugh or cry, something to release all the tenseness she is feeling in her chest and stomach, and her heart is hammering wildly. He licks his lips, pink tongue dragging over the cushions slowly and she really should stop staring at his mouth this much.

He lets go of her face, thumbs skating down her cheekbones as he releases her. It only takes a second for the nerves to explode all over her, and then he speaks.

“Goodnight then, Rose,” he says, and bends down to brush a kiss to her cheek. Her breath hitches, and she watches the corner of his mouth twitch.

He is gone before she can even move and she presses a hand to her tingling cheek, brushes fingers against her lips and stares at the door, at the lingering shadows in which he just disappeared

She huffs a quiet laugh, and then a sigh, realising that she is not going to get much sleep tonight.

_._

Not much changes between them, which, Rose doesn’t know if it should be infuriating or relieving. He takes to kissing her good night, and they talk longer and longer over dinners, but nothing else happens, however much she wants it to.

She doesn’t know why. They already slept together, years ago, so he has no reason to hold back now.

All in all, she’s terribly confused.

(Later, he tells her that he wanted to make sure she was completely certain about _them_ before he allowed it to go further, and didn't want her to feel like she owed him for staying in his house. This has her smiling until he kisses the smile from her lips, annoyed, and does not stop there.)

.

A single red rose arrives on her birthday, accompanied with _Happy Birthday, dad._ She apparates home right away, throws her arms around her dad- he hugs her back after a moment.

“Hi, sis,” Hugo says, Hermione already making tea, and her heart feels so much lighter, so free. When she starts crying, her dad smiles an easy smile, and it’s enough for now.

_._

She has an ugly fight with Theodore that starts with an innocent question about his friends and ends in slamming doors and screaming on Rose’s part, and biting remarks and icy silence on Theo’s part. Later she reflects that he is much too mature for that kind of behaviour, and that realisation does not exactly make her feel better, especially not after having her own age shoved into her face in the course of the fight.

Rose decides that it is time to end it. She feels stupid, for having thought that it could come to be something, between the two of them, something other than her being just a play thing— she realises that this is a terribly unfair thing to consider, that he had been kind, that he had been patient, that she had been the one to restart their sexual relationship and he had always allowed her to set the pace, but she is angry and bitter and spiteful. She does not want to consider that she may have misunderstood, or that she might be wrong, so instead, she latches onto the hurt feeling of betrayal.

Tomorrow, she’ll go find an apartment, maybe convince Lily to move in with her, and after that, she’ll be done with this.

She’ll treat Theodore with nothing but civility, and avoid him as much as she can. She doesn’t want to ruin this anymore than it already has been ruined. She ignores the little voice inside her that speaks of making mistakes.

Rose has always been stubborn to a fault.

_._

 “ _Dear Theodore,”_ his voice comes from the doorway, and Rose’s head snaps up so quickly her neck cracks. She winces and her hand comes up to her shoulder, but gets half stuck in the motion as she forgoes rubbing her shoulder to move her hair away from her eyes. Theodore doesn’t even look up, just continues reading her card— the card he was supposed to find when she would be already gone from Nott estate.

_“I cannot find the words to thank you for all your kindness, for opening your home to me, allowing me to stay here for so long and helping me through a rather rough time._

_I have given the key and your mother’s dresses to Leia, and requested her not to tell you I was leaving. Please don’t punish her for my order._

_I apologise for not saying goodbye to you in person. The last few days have been rather hectic, and I need to move in soon as per request of my new landlord. I also didn’t want to end this experience on a sour note, and thought it best if I’d leave quietly.”_

Rose rubs her forehead, and sits down on the bed, gripping the bedspread and wishing it to swallow her whole. She wonders how fast she can gather her other stuff and simply apparate away before he can finish reading.

“ _Theo, I truly am very grateful to you. I owe you a lot, and I do hope that you will at least let me pay you back the clothes, products and books you bought me for personal use._

_Wishing you the best._

_Yours,_

_Rose.”_

A feeling of trepidation starts to slowly spread from her stomach as she watches him calmly fold her letter, stick it in his inside pocket, and take off his glasses- not looking at her while he does all of these things.

Then finally, blue eyes meet hers and she’d suddenly rather he was still not looking at her. She watches him warily, and confused, because surely that is not an amused expression on his face.

“Well,” he scrapes his throat, twirling his glasses around in his hand, “if it weren’t for the red hair and freckles I’d be doubting your ancestry right about now.”

“Wha-what?” she murmurs, because of all things, of all things he is talking about her family? What do they even have to do with this?

“A long line of proud Gryffindors, no?”

 _Ah._ “Well, yes, the hat placed me in Ravenclaw for a reason I suppose.”

He hums, considering her. She rolls her shoulders uncomfortably, brushes her hair back, stops moving when she realises she is fidgeting under his gaze but everything is itching, the tag in her cheap shirt uncomfortable against her back, the material scratchy now that she is sweating and he is still looking at her- She looks away, notices that it has started raining and counts the droplets on the glass.

“Rose.” He says.

He has put the glasses away now, she notices, as she turns back reluctantly. He also has both hands in his pockets and his legs crossed as he leans against the doorway, effectively blocking her escape route- he no longer looks amused.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly.

“Did I mean _what?_ We haven’t said an awful lot to each other lately, have we? Except maybe some stilted request about passing the salt and some subtle comments about my maturity.” Her voice comes out shrill and she winces, cursing the fact that she always has the need to get so defensive. “I apologise,” she says stiffly, getting up from the bed and smoothing down the purple spread carefully, “that was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was,” he agrees offhandedly and she bristles but there is something in his face that makes her anger die down quickly. She can’t quite put her finger on it- a test, it seems. He is testing her, but what for?

She pulls on a loose thread at the hem of her shirt, and rocks slightly on her heels. There is a coat of wetness on her eyeballs and the more she blinks, the more it refuses to go away. She sighs, and rubs them until it finally does but the feeling remains. Un-sureness, insecurity, tiredness. The fight has drained from her, and she doesn’t know what to do or what to say. Maybe it is best if she simply leaves, isn’t it? What else is there to stay for anyway? He hasn’t said anything at all about that, about _them_.

“Rose,” again her name, those two syllables she usually loves hearing from him.

“What?” and she pretends her voice didn’t break.

“Are you truly mine?”

He was a Slytherin, _of course_ he’d notice. She had debated on whether or not she should write that, but it had felt right, fitting, true.

“I’d like to be,” she says honestly, because this cannot get worse than it already is, and she needs to learn to be courageous sooner or later. A pleased expression passes over his face, she continues: “but I didn’t know if you’d like me to be. I still am the daughter of a muggleborn, 26 years younger than you and as you remarked the other day, not really from your social circles.”

“Did you ever consider that I said that not because it applied to you, but because it applied to me?”

 _Oh._ He shakes his head at her surprise, exasperation written all over him. “But I don’t care about that! This whole thing,” she says, gesturing between the two of them, and the room surrounding them, “this whole thing has been about finding out who I am, making my own choices, my own life. Why didn’t you clarify?”

“Well, firstly, you were acting rather ridiculous- ah, ah,” he holds up his hand when he sees she’s about to speak, shushing her, “you _were._ Secondly, you were avoiding me, so I thought maybe you agreed. Maybe you had realised that you didn’t want to pursue a relationship with me. If you recall correctly, it was you that made the assumption that I didn’t want or need a wife or girlfriend five years ago, and it was you that said having me as a permanent fixture in your life would hurt far too many people. Why would this time be different, especially if you were again looking for your own way?”

That’s right. She _had_ said that. But “you didn’t correct the notion, either!”

“You had already made your decision.” He shrugs, “at the time I saw your reasoning, and it wasn’t terribly vexing. But this time...” he raises his eyebrows at her, and there is a look on his face she can’t place but which makes nervous tingles- _butterflies-_ explode in her stomach and all over her. “This time, I wasn’t going to let you go quite so easily.”

Her heart is drumming his name in Morse, and her lungs ache for breath. Her face feels very warm, and she is sure her cheeks are red.

“You were having your house elves watch me,” she realises, “you knew I would do this.”

“I anticipated it, yes.”

“So..., what now?”

A sly smile plays at the corner of his mouth- not unlike the one he wears when they are playing chess and he has cornered her queen. He sees right through her, of course.

 “I care for you, Rose. I found you remarkable five years ago, and I still do now. I apologise for hurting you, and I hope we can move on from this.”

Coming from Theodore Nott, it makes her knees go weak. But he still hasn’t said what he expects from her, if he wants her to stay or not. Hesitation is hanging of her every edge, and she is debating what to say, what to ask when Theo withdraws a hand from one of his pockets and tosses her something. Reflexively she catches it.

Opening her palm, she sucks in a breath, sitting down on the bed again. She turns wide eyes to his, and she sees he is _relishing_ this.

“Theo... what?”

“Open it,” he says, simply.

She turns her gaze back to the elegant small black box, and carefully flips the lid open with her pinkie. There lays the most beautiful ring she has ever seen. It has an intricate, elaborate design and yet it is tasteful, very elegant. She knows, logically, that it must be incredibly expensive but it doesn’t scream wealth. The band consist of smooth platinum and splits in two to form an infinity sign, covered in little diamonds and where the two bands cross each other- a sapphire and an emerald sit next to each other. The stones are not too big, are not terribly noticeably and fit with the design, but they are unmistakably the centre of the ring.

“It’s a promise ring,” he explains, “given to someone to signify a commitment to a monogamous relationship, to express the desire of pursuing the relationship and hopefully taking it further later. It’s an old tradition- purebloods used to give one of these to the lady they wished to court, and if she accepted then the courtship could begin. Of course, it usually did end in marriage but it could be broken much easier than a betrothal. Once the man made an official proposal, the parents had to give their permission, contracts had to be made and breaking them resulted in settlements for the vexed family… there were no contracts involved for the courtship.”

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “absolutely stunning, but Theodore... I can’t accept this. It must have cost you a fortune.”

“Not really,” he says. “It has been in the family for ages. All I did was replace one of the emeralds for a sapphire.”

At this her eyes grow even wider, and she snaps the lid shut. “You can’t give an heirloom to _me._ ”

He approaches her, reaching out to the box. Reflexively she holds it tighter and he laughs. “There you go. Now be a good girl and slip it on, or otherwise I’ll have to withdraw the stake I put forth for your hand.” And he gives her a wink as he sits down next to her.

She seldom sees him this playful. It tugs at her heart, and she wants nothing more than to comply but...

His hand covers her, thumb rubbing soothing circles on her skin. The other hand taps twice under her chin until she looks at him. “I _want_ to give you this. And if or when we decide to end this you feel so inclined to return it, you can. Please accept it?”

“Knowing you, if we ever break up you’ll probably contrive for me to keep it one way or another.” She mutters, and he chuckles and pushes his head into her hair, kissing her ear. She squirms and he laughs again- he really is in a good mood. It had taken her this long to realise it.

 “So, on which hand do I wear this?”

“You can choose. The etiquette is not as complex as with engagement rings, though usually it is worn on the left hand as well.”

Rose sighs, and puts it on, holding her hand a bit in front of her to see. It really is lovely, and she tells him as much.

“Of course,” he agrees, “it is a Nott heirloom after all.”

“Not at _all_ arrogant,” she chides, nudging him playfully.

Theodore doesn’t answer, instead bends his head to hers and fits their lips together, the gentle puff of his breath warm against her skin. She presses her hand- the one with the ring- to his cheek, scratching her nails softly over his stubble and kisses him back fully, opening her mouth to him.

He pushes her back slowly, until she is lying on the mattress and he is covering her with his body, hard angles against her softness and slightly rounded belly, and then he kisses his way to her ear.

“Oh, I had the house elves move the bags by the door to the bedroom next to mine. Less of a bother, there.”

Her mouth falls open, and she _laughs._ Fully and outright. “You _Slytherin_.”

“And here I thought we had already established that.” He says and bites her earlobe, pulling it down until pleasure starts becoming pain, and then laves the sting with his tongue.

“Well?” he asks her, pushing up slightly on his forearms so he is hovering above her, “will you stay?” there is something so earnest in his tone, in his question, and he has a sort of tender look on his face- it makes her heart beat faster.

And Rose, Rose looks into his brilliant eyes, tracks his nose with her eyes and counts the pores on his skin, thinks about the way his lips feel against her own, the way he makes her feel, exhilarated and always short of breath. She feels the warmth of his body radiating against her skin, runs her hands over the thick bed spread, feels it catch against the ring, and looks at the canopy above the bed, at the walls, the windows and the grounds they display.

She surges up, kisses him, and whispers: “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay.”


End file.
